


One Last Time

by causeimdifferent



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, M/M, Questionable Consent, Violent Sex, rape-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/causeimdifferent/pseuds/causeimdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S1E1: Thomas returns to the Duke's bedroom after their break-up ...</p><p>Suddenly everything about Thomas strikes Philip as almost painfully beautiful.<br/>And above all: vulnerable.</p><p>„Sorry“, he whispers into Thomas's ear.</p><p>Why the fuck didn't you tell me to stop?</p><p>Thomas turns his head: „Get off of me“, he says quietly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

„Don't be a bad loser, Thomas. Go to bed. Unless you want to stay.“

 A beat of consideration. Thomas pushes Philip away.

  _Don't think I didn't notice. You thought about it, too._

 

 But Thomas has stormed out of the room already.

 Leaving the door behind him wide open.

 

_A good screw, that's all you ever were to me._

_I'll find one like you again on every other street corner._

_Yeah, right, Philip._

_Who are you trying to fool?_

 

As if all they ever had, was some random suck and fuck affair.

When it has been so much more.

 

Passion and conflict taking their turns with almost clockwork precision.

A constant rollercoaster ride of hurting, coming round, making up, consolidation, deep connection.  
Only to start it all over again.

Exhausting. Exhilarating.  
  
Propelled by love or madness, Philip still cannot decide.

Both, most likely.

 

_Break up, to make up._

They've done that many times.

It was almost part of their routine.

 

The make-up sex has always been their very best. Philip allowing himself to get carried away for a change. By a love he so rarely dared to accept.

Wonderful, entrancing.

Afterwards disgusted with his loss of self-control.

Yet being so drawn to in Thomas - this readiness to love without fear and with abandon.  
Sometimes despising him for it.

Envy can do this to a man.

  
How Philip longs to feel genuine contempt about that blackmailing threat.  
Contempt makes letting go so smooth and easy.

Perhaps Thomas would have really pulled it through. There is something unpredictable, self-preserving and predatory about him after all, that Philip does find quite enticing.

Perhaps this has been his backup plan from the very start.

_Probably not._

Thomas's responses to Philip's provocations always tended towards the impulsive: Lashing out in the heat of the moment, intending to hurt, to pay back. Storming off in a cloud of smoke.  
  
But still, in the end – always forgiving, forgetting. Ready to give Philip all he wanted, yet again.

_No, you won't find someone like him on every street corner. Or anywhere else for that matter._

 

But this break up is final.

_It has to be._

Loving Thomas is a liability.

A threat to the sham, that is Philip's life.

 

Being in love with Thomas turned Philip into a man he despises -  
weak, soft in the brain, prone to entertain insane ideas:

Emigrating to Italy or France, giving it all up: Status, reputation, the entire cozy entitled existence.  
Just to be able to be with Thomas.

_There can't and won't be any more of this._

 

Philip follows Thomas through the open door.

 

There he still is: half way down the corridor.

Back turned towards Philip.

Stepping from one foot onto the other. Hands on the hips. Now one rubbing the neck. Wiping across the eyes.

 

„Thomas“, Philip calls out, „you are not done here yet.“

_I'm not done with you yet._

   
Thomas shoots round: „What the fuck else is it?“

„Watch your tongue. You forgot something.“

   
Thomas is still busy blinking away the tears as he re-enters the bedroom.

„Close the door.“

Thomas's chest rises and falls.

Then he complies.

 

„You will have to pack my things and lay out my clothes for tomorrow. I'll be leaving early in the morning ...“ Philip begins.

 A blank stare. Usually Philip is able to read him like a book. Not now.

_What are you? Angry? Furious? Hurt? Confused?_

„ … but there is something else … I was serious about you staying…“

 _Oh hell, cut straight to the point._  
  
„I want you one last time.“

 

Thomas's eyes widen to a comical degree.  
  
„Why … would I go along with that?“ he croaks after an impressive pause.

„Because you want it, too.“

„Fuck you.“

Oh, Thomas", Philip snorts, "Isn't it rather 'fuck me'?“

„Not ever“, Thomas shoots back.

Philip chuckles.

_I've always gotten you when I wanted you, remember?_

 

He ambles towards Thomas.

Stops right in front of him.

Way too close for comfort.

Now the signs are all too clear: nostrils flaring, an inhale deeper than necessary. Irises darkening. Cheeks flushing.

„Not up for it?“, Philip sneers, „Really?“

_Let's see._

 

He reaches out for Thomas's crotch. To feel him up.  
  
„Bastard! Sod you!“ Thomas makes a dive for Philip, his fingers digging into his throat.

 Both men come crashing down on the floor, Thomas on top.

„Oh, Thomas“, Philip laughs, thwarting Thomas's assault. „Don't even try. You know my fighting game is way above yours.“

 

A couple of skilled moves later Philip has him spreadeagled and flat on his stomach, sitting on his back. Locking Thomas's neck in the crook of his arm in a chokehold. _It does pay off to learn how to wrestle._ Thomas gasps for air, struggling uselessly to find relief from Philip's grip.

„You do know it makes me hard to wrestle you down, right?“ How could they ever forget? _Their Summer_. Skinny dipping at Granny's estate. The Secret Garden. Their first day alone. Just the two of them. And the sun. Brawling for fun. Play. Yet the result had been the same as now: Thomas struggling without avail, Philip overpowering him without any troubles.

Leaving both of them aroused.

To underline his words, Philip shoves his erection into Thomas's back.

 

Thomas growls with helpless fury, trying to break free again.

Philip grabs him by the hair to turn his face towards his own: „You don't have the ghost of a chance, Thomas. I could choke you out in a heartbeat, my dear.“

„Then why fucking don't you“, Thomas wheezes.

„Because it's no fun fucking someone who's passed out.“

„You bloody … „ Thomas starts, but his words get lost in a gargling noise, as Philip tightens the grip around his throat.

„Be nice.“

 

He lets go of Thomas's hair and shoves his hand under his stomach. Further down.

„Bastard.“ Thomas issues an angry groan, trying to escape Philip's prying touch. In vain.

Philip chuckles without being amused, as he finds what he is looking for.

„Don't pretend you don't want it, Thomas“ he pants, „you're hard.“

Thomas replies with another futile attempt to break free.

Philip fumbles open Thomas's fly. Pulls trousers and underpants down over perky buttocks.

Thomas struggles in protest.

_Let's get you naked properly._

 

Philip gives Thomas's throat another hard squeeze, almost blacking him out. Before he lets go to strip him from the waist down.

Thomas coughs and gasps for air. Recovering, just as Philip starts to tear down his trousers. He spins round. Furious. His fist crashes into Philip's jaw. Almost a knockout. This will show.

Philip's vision turns blurry.

_You fuck with me, I'll fuck you up._

 

He rams his fist into Thomas's liver. Making him falter with a whimper, temporarily incapacitated.

Philip shoves him on his back, rips open his shirt, tearing off buttons.

He gets hold of Thomas's arm to bend it at a weird angle close to breaking point.

Thomas's face contorts with a suppressed scream, his body buckling with pain.

„Give it up, man“, Philip wheezes, loosening his grip. „Just tell me to stop and I will“.

„Fuck you“, comes the constrained reply.

„I thought so“, Philip sneers. „Well then, let's do this properly.“

 

He lets go of Thomas's arm to get hold of his shirt collar, wrists crossed, to go for yet another choke. Thomas's fingers digging into Philip's underarms, trying to ease the pressure against his throat.

Philip gets on his feet,hoisting Thomas with him, then he drags him over to the bed to push him onto it face down. He shoves Thomas's head into the pillow, rips the shirt from paper white shoulders, grabs the legs of Thomas's trousers to tear them down at last.

And Thomas folds. Curling his arms tightly around the pillow.

_Giving in?_

Philip peels Thomas's underpants off until he lies naked before him.

_Ready for the taking._

 

Philip spits in his hand and gets on the bed. Pressing his knees into the insides of Thomas's thighs to spread them apart. He forces a finger between his buttocks. And further inside. Deeper. Thomas buckles. Tense muscles showing beneath that porcelain skin. Which makes him appear so oddly breakable.

_You are not really enjoying this. Why are you playing along?_

Philip slicks up his dick. Knowing all too well, that spit is no substitute for the usual fare.

_This will hurt._

 

He drives his hips, his tip, forward against the resistance of the barely prepared opening. Provoking a whimper, that makes Philip pause. Listening for the plea to quit.

It fails to appear, so Philip decides to finish what he started.  
„You want it rough? Well, I'm happy to comply.“

Thomas stifles a scream, his body convulses, as Philip pushes into him further. The going is coarse. Thomas groans into the pillow.

Philip grips Thomas's shoulders, pushing his palms into the bladebones. Pressing him into the mattress, now thrusting into him hard. Angrily. Furious almost. Forcing sob-like moans from the man underneath.

_Just say stop, you bloody idiot._

Droplets of sweat from Philip's forehead splitting open on Thomas's back.  
Like tears.

 _This is getting laborious._ _Not arousing at all._ _Ugly._

Philip grits his teeth. And plows on.

_Let's get it over with._

Philip's prick turns soft instead.

 

Almost grateful he withdraws and sinks down onto Thomas. His heart thumping against the other man's ribcage. A shiver passes through Thomas, his skin on Philip's skin softer than usual. Dry breath rasping through Philip's throat. Taking in Thomas's scent. That used to make him feel all warm  inside.

And at home.

It still does.

Suddenly everything about Thomas strikes Philip as almost painfully beautiful.  
And above all: vulnerable.

„Sorry“, he whispers into Thomas's ear.

_Why the fuck didn't you tell me to stop?_

Thomas turns his head: „Get off of me“, he says quietly.

 

Philip rolls on his back to hypnotize the ceiling. Motionless they lie side by side.

Until Thomas curls up into a ball, his back turned towards Philip.

_Oh, the memories._

Philip used to spoon Thomas when he had lain like this. And he used to fall asleep in Philip's arms. In a matter of minutes.  
Every time.

 

But now, of course, is different.

 

Philip stares at the white shoulders in front of him and it takes him a while to realize they are shaking.

In a daze he witnesses his arms reaching out as if acting on their very own intelligence.

Thomas does not recoil.

Philip's hand starts to caress the man once so dear. As he inches closer to take him in a proper embrace, Thomas rolls on his back to look at him from tear stained eyes.

„I loved you, you know.“

Not an accusation. Just a statement.

 

Philip bends over to kiss Thomas on parted lips. Cursing himself, but unable to hold back. Unwilling.

Thomas closes his eyes, allows Philip's tongue into his mouth, starting to move his own against it. Hesitantly at first. Then losing himself in the sensation.

_I could get hooked on this all over again._

The soft feel of Thomas's lips, his taste of cigarettes and whiskey, the teasing of his tongue, playful, wanton, makes Philip travel back in time.

Back to their London Summer.

So oddly enchanted.

So hot and sultry that the slightest exertion created diamonds of perspiration on Thomas's skin.

 

For as long as this languid kiss lasts, it dissolves the the hurt of the present and resurrects the love of the past. When things had been right between them.

Rarely without struggle. Yet beautiful.

Never flawless. But perfect, always.

 

_How could it end any different than this?_

 

Thomas arches his chest into Philip's. His arms closing around him to draw him closer. Hips rolling against Philip's.

Philip pulls back. To read in Thomas's face.

Flushed cheeks. Lids hooded over dilated pupils.

_Are you serious?_

 

„Do you really want this?“ Philip is hard already, once again.

Thomas gives a barely noticeable nod.

Philip glances down at Thomas's groin. Not quite erect yet, but not soft either.  
  
 _You better not assume we're making up._

 

Whatever Thomas's motivation, Philip doesn't even consider resisting the temptation.

He gets between Thomas's legs. Once more slicking himself up with spit. Wincing at the thought of how raw Thomas must be after the previous fuck.

He closes Thomas's mouth with his lips. Kissing him deeply while sinking into him.

Carefully this time. Considerate even.

Not to fuck him.

But to make love.

 

Thomas's moans reverberate in Philip's mouth as their hips start rolling against each other in a slow rhythm. Thomas's arms holding Philip in a tight embrace. _For the last time._ Philip's hands cupping Thomas's neck and head. Thomas's erection sliding along Philip's stomach evoking tingles inside.

_God, what are you throwing away?_

Thomas's legs lock around Philip's back, drawing him deeper inside. Philip pressing into him. Desperate.  
Driven by the urge to feel as much of him as he possibly can, to merge as much with him as he possibly can.  
  
 _For the last time._

  
Hitting the exact right spot within Thomas.

Now, of all times.  
  
Thomas arches his back, pushes his hips upward with a moan. His body convulses. Shudders.

Warm stickiness spurts against Philip's stomach.

_I haven't even touched you!_

 

Drawing Thomas even closer, Philip lets himself go. With a soft moan he sinks onto Thomas. Their hearts beating into each other. _For the last time._ Philip's face nuzzling the crook of Thomas's neck. Silky raven hair caressing his forehead.

_I want to lie like this forever._

 

„Now move your ass and get on with your job.“

Thomas flinches at Philip's words. „What?“

„What 'what'?“ Philip scoffs: „No need to linger. We're done fucking.“

 „Are you serious?“

 Philip snorts: „I didn't fuck you to patch things up, Thomas.“

 

„If I don't mean anything to you, then why didn't you keep on fucking me as if you hate me.“

 Philip just shrugs. "Move it.“

„Did you ever love me at all?“

„As a matter of fact …“ Philip contemplates „ … I did.“

 

Thomas nods: „Just not enough, right.“

„Thomas, let's put an end to this now. I told you I am leaving early in the morning. Get my things packed and then bugger off. I'm tired.“

How could Philip possibly tell him that had he held him in his arms just a few seconds longer he'd have fallen for him all over again?

Thomas hesitates, his features reflecting the inner struggle.

Then he gets up, collects his clothes and gets dressed.

  
When Thomas looks up again he is wearing the perfect mask of indifference. 'The servants' blank', as Philip calls it. Irritating and titillating. A shell, begging to be cracked open. To find out, what's underneath. Just like the very first time he had laid eyes on him: Thomas holding a tray on a sweltering summer day at that garden party at Grantham House. Sweating in his livery.

A mess on the inside, stone-cold on the outside.

  
„I'm afraid you will have to try your own hand at packing, for a change.“ Thomas's voice is devoid of emotion.

„You would not want me to complain about you, would you, now?“ Philip retorts.

  _God, I need a bath._

  _And a wire brush._

  _To rub my skin off._

   
„Certainly not, … Your Grace“, Thomas replies.

 He looks at Philip one last time. Before he closes the door behind him.

 Without the slightest trace of anger.

 But firmly all the same.


End file.
